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Weirdo

Something a bit different for y’all this week my loves- A poem!

I remember the first time I was called a weirdo. The words stung like a knife. Why am I weird? I asked the mirror everyday with tears streaming down my face.
I grew up with that label, recoiling in shame whenever it was used. I tried without success to Change myself into what they wanted to remove it.
I slowly learned that doing this meant that I was giving up my choice and voice. I was becoming what society wanted me to be but not who I wanted to be.

What makes me a weirdo?

I am a unique individual who breathes and screams and crys and bleeds. Who loves and needs to be loved. Someone Who is perfectly imperfect, who has flaws and is okay with them. I can see the beauty in the simple things and the love found in being honest. I dare to think for myself and stand up for what I believe in and this all makes me a weirdo.

So Weirdo isn’t an insult to me anymore. I own the label as someone who is unique. I don’t fit into their cookie cutters and wasn’t stamped out by the dozen. Well I am happy to be a weirdo! I will continue to be one and wear the label with pride!

If to loose this label means I must be who everyone else is then I guess I will remain a weirdo until I draw my last breath.